


Teacher's Pet

by TulipGirl



Category: Chanoey - Fandom, Friends (TV)
Genre: HIV/AIDS, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28933719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TulipGirl/pseuds/TulipGirl
Summary: This story takes place pre-season one. It is largely set during Chandler's Freshman year at college.Not technically a Chanoey story, although it does hint that this is in his future.In this tale, Chandler is much more accepting of his own self. It assumes that he adjusted relatively well to his parent's divorce and his Dad's lifestyle. He is, however, quite shy and inexperienced. But luckily he meets someone older, who is willing to teach him ...Note: As a non-American, I have taken some liberties with my descriptions of college life and accommodations. My apologies if I have made any major mistakes.
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

I stare at the piece of paper that I’m holding in disbelief. In an instant, my previously carefree mood has been annihilated and I feel absolutely gutted. My eyes struggle to focus on the words, my vision blurred by a sudden onset of tears that threaten to spill at any second. 

Hurriedly I grab a napkin from the bar and pretend to blow my nose so that I can quickly wipe my face. I glance up to see if anyone else has noticed my subterfuge. Joey is talking with Monica a few feet away from me, Ross is next to me but he seems to be preoccupied with watching Joey and his sister. Phoebe looks at me though.

In my mind, the noisy atmosphere of the bar has suddenly dulled to a silence as I am overwhelmed with memories. 

“Chandler? Are you OK?” Phoebe asks me. 

She’s the only one who has noticed the change in my demeanour. Phoebe always notices these things. 

“Huh?” I reply, unable to form a coherent word let alone a full response to her question.  
“You seem … upset … did you get your electricity bill or something?” she asks me, gesturing towards the paper in my hand.  
“Oh … no … it’s not that,” I reply. 

Ross is looking over at me now … he also looks worried. Monica and Joey are completely oblivious, engaged in their conversation. 

I look down at the picture that’s included with the article in the alumni newsletter that I’m holding. Those familiar dark eyes stare back at me. I’m instantly transported back to a different time and place. At least mentally. I’m no longer aware of my friends or the other patrons of the bar. No, in my mind I’m elsewhere, in a tastefully decorated room, with soft music playing, and I’m gazing at my lover.

My thoughts come crashing back to the present as Ross leans over my shoulder and glances at the paper.

“What is that? Something from Columbia? … Oh …” he says simply, knowingly. 

Of all my friends, he’s the only one who knows. Not the fact that I’m gay, everyone knows that, but he’s the one who knows … everything. 

I drop the newsletter on the bar, I simply can’t read anymore. I have to get out of here, I can’t deal with this right now. I turn sharply, bumping my glass. Beer spills everywhere … trickling along the counter soaking the discarded paper … instantly blotting the words. I look at it for a moment but I don’t rush to mop up the mess or save the document. I just stare at the heading:

_In Memoriam._

He’s gone … really gone now. I break my trance long enough to glance at Ross for a second. He doesn’t say anything, but I can see that he’s sympathetic. Phoebe also looks worried. Without explanation, I just leave, not waiting for anyone despite the four voices calling my name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Flashback** (August 1987).

“I assume you don’t need me to come up with you,” Mom states as our car pulls up outside the gate.

I look at her incredulously. There is absolutely no way I want her within a mile of my new home. Luckily her comment was hardly a question, rather, an assumption that her motherly duties were now over and she could dump me and run.

“Ah, no … I’ll manage,” I reply politely.  
“Well Edgar can help you with your things … hurry please, I’m going to be late,” she says, dismissively.  
“It’s alright, I don’t have much … you can go now Mom,” I sigh as I gather my meagre belongings. 

I get out of the town car and hoist my duffle bag up onto my shoulder. Reaching back into the car for my box I glance at my mother. She’s on the car phone, already chatting to someone. Geez, I haven’t even left yet. She waves to me with a fluttery gesture and then turns away to look out the window. I step back and use my leg to slam the door behind me. The car pulls away. I doubt that I’ll see my mother again any time soon. Great farewell, I think to myself.

I turn around and stare up at the large imposing building in front of me. My new home for the next 12 months. John Jay Hall, at Columbia University, is huge. I count at least 15 floors. 

Trudging inside the building, I discover, to my relief, that there is an elevator. My dorm room is on the 12th floor, I hadn’t fancied climbing that many stairs with all my stuff. The elevator takes a very long time to reach the ground floor. I glance around as I wait. It’s a handsome building, old and tastefully decorated. There’s lots of wood panelling, chandeliers, and ornate windows. The furnishings consist of easy chairs, sofas, and low tables arranged in small groups. There is also a large fireplace with an ornate wooden mantel. A plaque is mounted in the wood panelling above but I’m too far away to read the inscription properly … something about the ‘spirit of youth’. The place sort of resembles a fancy country club. Like the one my parent’s used to be members of.

I had been the only one waiting for it when I initially pressed the button, but after a few minutes, another person wanders up. Unlike me, she’s not carrying any belongings, I guess she has already moved in.

“This dorm hall apparently has the slowest elevators on campus,” the girl comments to me. 

I glance at her, she’s quite pretty with strawberry blonde hair and a nice smile. 

“Oh, really?” I reply with interest, although it seems like an odd piece of trivia to be aware of.  
“Yeah, my sister lived here a couple of years ago. She told me you have to allow at least an extra five minutes to wait for the elevators so don’t sleep in or you’ll be late for class,” she tells me.  
“Good advice … thanks … hey, I’m Chandler, by the way, Chandler Bing,” I say, introducing myself.  
“Melissa Goldberg, but call me Missy … everyone else does,” she replies with a smile.  
“Nice to meet you, Missy,” I tell her and she smiles again … she really does have a lovely smile.

The elevator finally makes a chime and the doors open. It’s quite fancy looking inside, wood-panelled and obviously quite old.

“What floor are you on?” she asks, offering to press the button for me. This is fortunate because I would have had to juggle my box again in order to press it myself.  
“12,” I reply.  
“Hey! So am I … room 1229, I chose this building because of all its single rooms … it’s good to have my own space,” she tells me.  
“Oh … I didn’t know you could choose … they just allocated me here,” I tell her.  
“Uh oh … that means you’ll be in one of the shared rooms … they only have a few per floor, what’s your number?” she asks.  
“1245,” I tell her, as the elevator slowly lurches upwards.  
“Yup … that’s a double … and about as far away from the bathrooms and the lounge as you can get,” she said with a sympathetic smile.  
“Well … I guess I’m going to have a roommate …” I conclude.  
“Yeah … hey where’d you go to high school?” she asks.  
“New Rochelle … Iona Prep,” I inform her and wait for the obligatory reaction.  
“Oooh … a private school boy, why on Earth are you slumming it here at John Jay … surely you can afford something better than this old place?” she remarks, but in a friendly tone. I’d been expecting something like that, it’s usually what I hear when I talk about my old school.  
“Dunno … I didn’t really think about it … plus there wasn’t anyone at my school who I wanted to share a place with or anything,” I say.

It’s the truth. I couldn’t think of anything worse than going into a frat house with any of the guys from my high school … most of them were a bunch of stuck up snobs. Oh, well that’s behind me now. New beginnings.

“Well, I think you’ll like it here … I arrived two days ago and already this floor looks pretty exciting,” Missy tells me. I smile at her.

The elevator was still making its way up the building, apparently, it was passing the 9th floor at now. 

“Do you have a major in mind?” I ask her, breaking the silence that we’d fallen into.  
“Oh, probably Psychology … it’s what my sister studied and she said it was interesting … “how about you?”  
“Not sure yet … I’m good at math, so perhaps Accounting.”

Missy looks at me and makes a face. 

“Really? Accounting … sounds a bit boring. You should at least take Introduction to Psych … there’s math in that as well,” she suggests to me.  
“Oh yeah … what sort of math?” I ask. 

I don’t know much about Psychology, except that it’s got to do with moods and counselling and stuff like that.

“Statistics … we have to analyse data from all the psychological experiments and configure it into reports and stuff. I’m actually not that good at math … so if you take the class you might be able to help me with that part?” she asks suggestively with a smile.  
“Sure … I could do that,” I reply and she beams. I think I just made a friend.

Finally, the elevator reaches the 12th floor, the doors slowly open and Missy bounds out.

“Welcome to the 12th floor!” she exclaims ... “Come on I’ll show you where your room is.”

I dutifully follow her down a long hallway that is lined with many, many doors. Some are open and I can see that the rooms are quite large, especially considering they’re mostly singles, with pale cream walls and one large window per room. Missy was correct, my room is at the far end of the floor, tucked away around the corner, the second last room in the corridor. I fish around in my pocket for the key that I’ve been allocated and unlock the door. Missy follows me in, she certainly isn’t shy.

The room is bigger than the others, because it is a double, just as Missy had predicted. There are two beds each with a set of bedside draws, two wardrobes, and two desks with chairs. Fairly spartan really. My roommate hasn’t arrived yet. Both beds are stripped down to the mattress protectors. I choose the one near the window, placing my box on the drawers and throwing my bag on the bed.

“This room’s nice … I wonder who your roomie will be,” she comments as she wanders around looking at the furniture, opening the wardrobe and drawers. 

I just look at her in amazement. I’m not used to hanging around girls. Iona was an all-boys school and I wasn’t particularly sociable therefore I didn’t go with the other guys to hang out with our sister school students. I preferred to study and hang out at home.

“Well, this has to be a mistake … why have you been given a double?” a shrill woman’s voice says from the doorway. 

Missy and I turn in the direction of the voice and see that there are three people all crowded around the entranceway looking inside, looking at us. A tall lanky guy with dark brown hair that I swear looks to be permed and a moustache that makes him look like a second rate porn star, and an older couple who are obviously his parents. Geez, and I thought my hair was bad … this guy takes the cake.

“It’s not a mistake … I asked for a double,” the guy says walking past them into the room.

He smiles at Missy and actually holds out his hand to shake hers, she just looks at him strangely.

“Ross Geller, nice to meet you … I assume you’re my new roommate,” he says to her, Missy chuckles.  
“Nice try, John Jay is co-educational but not _that_ co-ed, this is your roommate … Chandler,” Missy tells him. 

She walks over to me and puts her hands on my shoulders as she says my name as if to reinforce that it is in fact me she is referring to.

“Oh … ok … hey Chandler, how are you?” Ross says in a slightly disappointed tone.  
“So who are you dear … Chandler’s girlfriend?” the woman asks Missy as she enters the room and walks over the window to peer out of it.  
“What? No way … we just met a few minutes ago. No, I’m just giving him a tour of the floor … he looked a bit lost,” Missy tells her, she has a bubbly voice which always seems to sound chirpy. It makes me smile just to hear her.  
“I wasn’t lost …” I correct her.  
“Well, son … it does appear that you have quite a few good looking young women to pick from … I wish I was at college again,” the man says to Ross. 

It’s not the most appropriate comment, especially from a guy who for all intents and purposes looks like he’s far too old to be perving on the students. 

“Dad!” Ross whines, clearly he thinks his Father is being inappropriate as well.  
“Come Jack … we should probably go and get the rest of Rossey’s things,” the woman says, ushering her husband out of the room. 

Ross just stares at her with a mortified expression on his face. I can see Missy is trying to stifle a giggle, unfortunately, I am not nearly as discreet. I burst out laughing.

“Rossey?” I exclaim to my new roommate after they have gone. He rolls his eyes.  
“Yeah, well you know … Mother’s … they’re so embarrassing,” he replies.

I simply nod, after all, I know all about embarrassing Mothers. 

“How much stuff do you have anyway?” I ask him. 

All three of them had been carrying a large box with them when they arrived, and now apparently his parent’s had gone to fetch even more stuff.

“Oh, not much more, a few boxes and some suitcases … is this the bed you’ve picked?” he asks indicating the one near the window that had my duffle bag on it.  
“Yeah … but I’m flexible, if you want it you can have it,” I tell him.  
“Would you mind? I quite like waking up to the sunrise,” he tells me. 

I didn’t think it was possible to meet anyone who was a bigger dork than me, but this guy clearly is.

“Geez, you guys should get along like a house on fire … well hey, I’ve gotta go, I’ll see you around,” Missy said to us before bounding out of the room in her bouncy manner.  
“Who was that anyway?” Ross asks after she leaves.  
“Missy Goldberg … I met her downstairs. She’s in room 1229,” I tell him.  
“Oh … but you two aren’t dating?” Ross asks.  
“No … we just met … why?” I ask.  
“No reason … she’s nice, maybe I’ll ask her out … if you don’t mind,” he replies.

I look at him. There is no way this guy has got any chance of successfully dating Missy, she is way out of his league. She’s probably out of my league as well … not that I’d even considered dating her.

“Oh, hey man … that’s probably not a good idea, she’s … um … I mean …” I say trailing off, there isn’t really an easy way to say that he is going to get rejected, badly. 

Ross, however, completely misinterprets my meaning.

“Oh, I’m sorry … do you like her? I respect that man … I won’t ask her … promise,” he says, apologetically.  
“What? Oh, no … it’s not like … ah …” I say, trailing off again.

I have no idea how to tell him that I definitely have no interest in Missy. I’ve never really told anyone that before, and I don’t plan to start with a guy who I only just met.

“Ok, well how about we both agree not to date her … or even ask her out … she can just be our friend,” Ross suggests. 

I consider this for a moment. It could be a viable solution … I mean he’s got no chance with her and I’m not interested in her, so a mutual agreement to not make fools of ourselves seems like a plan. 

“Ok, sure,” I say.  
“Hey … do you play any instruments?”  
“Um … no … I mean I learnt a bit of guitar in high school … why?”  
“I play the electric keyboard … I was wondering … would you like to start a band?” 

I look at him strangely for a moment. This guy is so weird. I’ve always been shy and conservative. I didn’t really fit in with the confident rich guys at my school, much preferring quieter activities like reading and studying but I wasn’t exactly an unpopular dork. I had friends. Something about this guy tells me he didn’t have any, he’s such a nerd. But I find myself not minding. He’s sort of interesting.

I find myself agreeing to his crazy band idea. He’s got a name picked out already _‘Way, No Way’_. He talks about it for ages, as his parents continue to bring in box after box of items and we unpack and settle into our dorm room. I just listen to him, only sometimes putting in a comment or suggestion. Two friends in one day, not bad.


	3. Chapter 3

“Welcome to Psychology 101. I’m Professor Sullivan, but you may call me Luke if you wish. I do hope you all received your preliminary reading list and have completed your introductory module, I will be asking random questions through this session to test you,” our lecturer booms from where he’s sitting on the desk which is situated at the front of the amphitheatre. 

Missy nudges me in the ribs and gives me a smile when I turn to look at her. 

“He’s cute!” she whispers to me.

I roll my eyes at her and return my attention to the Professor. But now my attention is focussed on his looks rather than what he’s saying about Psychology. He’s quite young for a Professor, only about 35. Compared to my other professors he’s at least twenty years younger. He’s Black, with cropped hair and a neat goatee. He’s dressed in jeans and a dark blue dress shirt. I guess he’s good looking. 

Suddenly, he jumps up from the desk and strides up one of the aisles.

“You … what’s your name?” he asks a young guy who looks like he’s going to die of embarrassment.  
“David,” the guy responds, nervously.  
“Tell me David, who was it who said, _“Psychology has a long past but a short history?”_ Luke asks him.

David looks at him with a blank look on his face. Clearly, he hasn’t undertaken the pre-requisite reading. Luke dismisses him with a wave of his hand and continues up the aisle in search of his next victim. He pauses in front of a girl who looks quite bored, although she does have the presence to amend her expression when she realises that he’s now asking her for the answer.

“Ah … was it Marx?” she says tentatively. I roll my eyes. 

What is wrong with these people? It’s not like the answer is hard. It was clearly stated in the introductory chapter that we were supposed to read. Geez, I’ve read it and I only signed up for this class two days ago. 

“No … no that is incorrect. Has anyone done the reading? It wasn’t very much … just one chapter.” 

I look around the lecture hall, there are probably 100 people here. Out of all those students, there is only a handful of people who raise their hands. I don’t exactly raise my hand, I’m not that eager to be called upon … but I also don’t want to be seen as one of the dummies who clearly haven’t prepared. So I lift my hand and forearm off the desk and raise one finger, but my elbow is still resting on my books. 

Luke is also looking at the cohort, his eyes settle on me, mainly because I’m the closest to where he is currently standing. He looks me up and down for a moment. Then he walks up the steps towards me.

“Please … enlighten us …” he says gesturing to me.  
“Hermann Ebbinghaus,” I reply.  
“Yes … yes, that’s right. What’s your name?”  
“Chandler,” I reply. He smiles at me, he has a really nice smile.  
“Well Chandler, congratulations on having successfully passed my first test," Luke compliments me ... "The rest of you had better go home and complete your reading … I promise I won’t be this lenient tomorrow."

He continues to look at me for a moment, his eyes studying me with a curious intensity. I shyly look down at my books, breaking the connection. He seems to regain his focus then and turns back to the larger group ... 

“Now, returning to the subject matter … Ebbinghaus did indeed capture the history of psychology as a discipline when he formulated that particular quote. In this module we will be reviewing the history of psychology and learning about both its ancient philosophical roots as well as its more modern uses,” he says striding back down the aisle towards the stage.

Missy nudges me again.

“Teacher’s pet,” she says with a smile.  
“Yeah … that’s me,” I mumble.


	4. Chapter 4

“Chandler, can you please stay back … I’d like to talk to you,” Luke says to me as the tutorial is finishing and the other students in my group begin packing up and leaving.

I look over at him. He’s sitting at the desk surrounded by various stacks of essays and reports. He’s looking intently at one and not looking at me. I pack up my books and approach his desk as the last of my fellow students leave. Missy isn’t in this group, it’s an advanced tutorial for students who are excelling. It’s also the only tutorial group that Luke himself instructs, the others he has allocated to various graduate students. 

“Ah, Chandler … I thought I’d give you the feedback on your latest paper personally, congratulations,” he says as he passes me the essay that he’d been looking at.

I notice there’s an A+ scribbled in the top right-hand corner. I guess I passed, I think to myself.

“Thank you, Sir,” I say as I read through the positive notes he has scribed throughout.   
“You’re very astute, my best student in years,” he compliments me.

I hardly think so. I know for a fact that there are others in my cohort who are smarter than me. One girl in particular always gets A+ grades and strives to be selected for Luke’s little in-class quizzes. Although she is a bit annoying, and I’ve noticed that he doesn’t pick her very often. 

“I highly doubt that, Sir,” I say, tucking the paper away in my folder.  
“Well, sometimes the best students are those who least suspect it,” he replies with a smile.  
“Thank you, I guess,” I respond, unsure of exactly what I’m supposed to say to that comment.

It’s early October. I’ve been at college for about six weeks, and as I mentioned I’m doing quite well. It’s not only Psychology that I’m excelling in. My other classes Economics, Accounting methods, English literature, and Computer studies have all been fairly easy for me. I’m actually quite bored with most of them. Psychology is interesting though. Missy was right, it is a fun subject.

Luke stands up from the desk and rounds the desk. I gulp silently as he approaches me. He gazes at me, his eyes seem to be conveying a silent message of some sort. 

“Ah, Sir?” I ask, nervously after a few moments. 

I break the trance by looking away, staring at my feet in an embarrassed way. I’m not used to this. From either men or women. No one pays me any attention usually. Gradually, I look back up. He’s shifted his pose slightly, now he’s leaning against the desk, but he’s still looking at me. He smiles. Obviously sensing my nervousness he changes the subject … slightly…

“I’m hosting a little soiree tomorrow night … I’d like you to come.”   
“What?”   
“It’s a dinner party … and I’d like you to attend,” he explains.  
“I know what soiree means … it’s just … you want me to attend? Who else will be there?” I ask.  
“I haven’t decided yet … it may just be you,” he said with so much confidence that it surprises me. 

This guy, my lecturer, seems to have just invited me to a private get together. A date, perhaps. I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed, as a general rule. But I’m intrigued. I look at him for a moment and he gazes right back at me, his dark eyes connecting with mine and holding. I realise with a sudden thump of my heart that I do find him attractive. 

“Ah … alright, I suppose … where?” I ask him.   
“My place … here’s the address,” he says handing me a piece of paper … “7pm sharp.”

I take the paper and glance at the message. I know the general location. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the building. I gulp silently at the prospect of going to this man’s house. Surely that can only be for one reason. Do I even want to do that? Well, I suppose I have tomorrow to think about it. 

I realise that I’ve lost myself in my thoughts again when I hear his voice calling to me.

“Don’t be nervous Chandler … come here,” he beckons. 

I look up and make eye contact again. His eyes are magnificent, dark and intoxicating. I find myself hypnotised slightly. Without even realising that I’m moving I find myself closer to him. I’m excited and terrified all at once, but I keep inching closer.  
He reaches out and gently strokes my hair when I get close enough. It is such an intimate gesture, and so foreign to me. To say that I’m inexperienced would be a huge understatement. My body tingles with anticipation and he notices my reaction. Smiling, he shifts his hand down, stroking the back of my neck and then leans in and kisses me. 

It’s not my first kiss. But it is with a man. I can smell him, a woody earthy scent. I can taste him, a mint like breath. I can feel him, the soft whiskers of his goatee lightly brushing my chin. 

The only other person I’ve kissed was Paula, one of my Mom’s friends. She stayed with us for a few days last summer. She decided I needed companionship one night and deposited herself in my bed and proceed to kiss me, a lot. I let her. It was interesting. Until I realised that it was actually my Mom who had asked her to seduce me. That was a bit of a turn-off. I mean, whose Mother does that? Mine apparently. Needless to say that particular encounter didn’t go far. But this was very different.

His lips are caressing mine, coaxing them to open. I relent and allow his tongue into my mouth. With expert technique, he deepens our embrace. I’m kissing him back now. Without even realising it. My body is also reacting, quite strongly, to this encounter. I feel a rush of endorphins as I lean in closer and allow my hands to encircle his back. I hear a soft murmuring sound of approval at my gesture. 

The thrill of finally partaking in my only teenage fantasy is exhilarating. I hadn’t expected it to be this easy, after years of shyness and hesitation throughout high school. Being gay has been my deeply buried secret that I reserved just for me, only allowing myself to indulge the thoughts occasionally in the privacy of my own mind. With only a few brief tangible moments. A quick glance at someone here. A whiff of a masculine aroma there. A chaste touch of a guy’s body in a crowded environment. 

I’m brought crashing out of my reflection by the sensation of his hands, which have started to explore my body. At first, I let him. His hands gently stroke my chest, my back, down towards my hips. Then suddenly it’s not so chaste anymore. The foreign sensation of fingers lightly brushing my aching cock results in an immediate tingling pulsating reaction from me. 

Fuck! That’s a bit much. I can’t allow that right now, not here, in this classroom Whilst it’s somewhat private anyone could walk in at any time. Perhaps that gives him a thrill, but not me. I stumble backwards in shock, crashing into one of the desks and nearly falling over. He steps forward to help me regain my balance, clasping me firmly in his strong hands and righting me. There is something reassuring about his hold. It feels protective, like he’s looking after me. His grip on my arm loosens to a mild touch as I stand up straighter. But I’ve had enough, with a hurried swatting gesture I remove his hand from my arm and rush towards the door.

I can hear him chuckling lightly to himself as I depart.

“7pm,” he simply says as I leave. 

We’ll see, I think to myself.


	5. Chapter 5

“Where are you off to?” Ross asks me as he looks over at me where he is seated at his desk.

He has been intently reading an Anthropology textbook all afternoon. I’m standing in front of my wardrobe trying to decide what to wear. What does one wear to a soiree that may or may not have multiple people and may or may not be a date? I have no idea. I don’t even know if I’m going yet. I’ve been standing here trying to select an outfit for the past 20 minutes, without any real luck. 

All day I’ve been contemplating Luke’s invitation. During class, at lunch, and for the entire afternoon and early evening. I’m not naïve. I know what it means. What will happen if I go. But I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Part of me says yes, with every ounce of my being. The prospect excites me, he excites me. But another part is terrified and it is resolutely saying no, don’t go.

“I think I have a date,” I reply.  
“You think? How is it that you don’t know?” Ross asks me.  
“Well, he wasn’t really very clear … he called it a …” I trail off as I realise what I just said.

Ross is staring at me, I guess he heard me correctly. Oh, boy.

“Did you say he?” Ross asks me incredulously.  
“Yeah …” I tell him, nervously. I can’t really look at him so I pretend to be intently interested in the red shirt that I’m holding.  
“Who?” he asks, quietly. He’s no longer reading his textbook, rather his attention is fixated on me.  
“Luke Sullivan,” I tell him as I decide that the red shirt is not appropriate and put it back in my wardrobe, anything to avoid looking at Ross.  
**“Professor Sullivan!”** he exclaims, incredulously. 

I pause and look over at him with a sheepish expression. He looks flustered. I’m not sure if it’s because I just admitted to going on a date with a guy or the fact that my partner will be a teacher. Probably both. 

“Yeah … he kind of asked me to a private soiree.”  
“I really don’t think that students are supposed to fraternise with the faculty,” he informs me.  
I know this. They’re also not supposed to proposition them in tutorial rooms after class, kiss them, touch them, and scare the bejesus out of them. But I don’t care.  
“It’ll be fine … it’s not against the rules, just frowned upon … I’ll be discreet,” I tell him, lying through my teeth. 

I know it’s not simply ‘frowned upon’, who in their right mind would ever believe that? But it’s all I can offer to try and placate Ross who seems to be having some sort of seizure right now.

It’s already past 6pm, I have to leave shortly. I picked a really good time to have a heart to heart.

“But … I thought … don’t you like Missy?” he asks me, finally finding his voice again.  
“No, not really … I mean she’s a good friend and all, but I don’t like her like that.”

He swivels his chair around to face me. I meanwhile have decided the red shirt is the best option after all and have pulled it back out of the wardrobe. It’s time to get dressed, or I’ll be late. Ross meanwhile is obviously trying to think of something appropriate to say … he opens his mouth to speak, closes it again, thinks for a moment, then finally says…

“Oh … so guys huh? … how long have you known?” he asks. 

I just shrug.

“I don’t know … always I guess. But it’s not something I talk about much …” I explain. 

I’ve always felt this way, however, being attracted to men both excites me and also troubles me deeply. I certainly haven’t done anything about it yet, shyness and repressed emotion were always far too intimidating. Not that I didn’t have prospects and opportunities if I’d wanted to pursue them. I did attend an all-boys private high school … it was definitely a possibility. But no, a deeply buried fear has always concerned me and prevented me from experimenting, until now it seems. 

I’m aware that Ross is still talking, I pull myself out of my self-reflection and listen to him … 

“Oh, so hey … you’re not like … attracted to me are you?” he asks, nervously.

From where I’m positioned, sitting on my bed lacing my shoes, I stifle a chuckle. Attracted to him? 

“No Ross, I’m not … you’re safe,” I tell him.  
“Oh …” he says quietly, then continues … “Why not?”  
“Do you _want_ me to be?” I ask him. 

I’m only joking, but based on his reaction he doesn’t know that. He reacts so abruptly that he almost falls off his chair and he spends a moment fumbling around trying to regain his balance and some of his dignity.

“No … of course not … I just wondered … what’s wrong with me? Am I unattractive?” he asks in a pitiful tone of voice that does indeed make him seem somewhat unattractive.  
“Of course not … you’re fine … just not my type, plus you’re not gay,” I tell him.  
“Oh, you can tell?”  
“Well not always … but with you, yes I can,” I inform him. This statement appears to reassure him.  
“Oh, well that’s interesting … I’ve never been able to tell … well, sometimes it’s obvious, but with most people you can’t tell … I didn’t know about you,” he babbles.  
“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it won’t be an issue … I mean it’s not like you’re ever going to date a gay person by accident, so you don’t really have anything to worry about,” I tell him gently and he looks relieved.

I look at my watch and see that it’s almost 6.30pm … crap, I don’t want to be late. I quickly grab my wallet and keys from the bedside draw.

“Look, Ross, I have to go …” I tell him as I rush towards the door, I hope the bloody elevator behaves itself today, although it’s not likely.  
“Oh, ok … well have fun, I guess,” Ross calls out as I exit our room shutting the door behind me.


	6. Chapter 6

Luckily, Luke lives quite close to the campus and I’m able to get to his apartment building just before 7pm. Because I’m running a bit late and have to walk quite swiftly to arrive on time has meant that I don’t have much opportunity to self-analyse the situation that I’m getting into. This is probably a good thing. Given the chance to think too much about something like this would normally cause me to run a mile in the other direction.

I scan the names listed next to the buzzers and press the button that’s adjacent to Sullivan.

“Yes,” I hear his familiar confident voice through the intercom a few moments later.  
“It’s Chandler,” I respond into the microphone.  
“Come on up,” he says, in a distinctly friendlier tone and I hear the buzz and click of the front door unlocking.

He lives on the third floor of a brownstone walk-up. It’s a nice building. There appear to be two apartments on each floor. I knock on his door and it swings open almost immediately. 

He’s wearing beige slacks and a dark brown turtleneck sweater. I can hear soft music playing in the background and there is a nice aroma of something delicious.

“Come in … here let me take your coat,” he says closing the door behind me.  
“Thank you,” I reply and cross the threshold into the apartment.  
“I wasn’t sure that you would come, after your rapid departure yesterday,” he says as he hangs my coat in a hall closet.  
“Oh … yeah, sorry about that … I … I …” I trail off. 

I what? Have a very strong tendency to freak out about anything resembling an emotional connection, let alone with someone like him.

He smiles at me. 

“It’s alright … we’ve all been there,” he reassures me.  
“Something smells amazing,” I comment as I follow him in the direction of the kitchen.  
“Ah yes, my famous Rogan Josh, I’m quite fond of a good Indian curry, I hope you like spicy food.”  
“Sure, if it tastes as good as it smells then I’m sure it will be great.”

He pours me a glass of wine and I sit at one of the island bench stools to watch him finish cooking.

“So, I assume I’m the only one attending this … soiree,” I comment.  
“Well deduced,” he simply replies as he stirs the sauce that is simmering on the stove.  
“Well, you did say I was your best student,” I say light-heartedly. He chuckles softly in acknowledgment.

There is a short period of silence, at least conversationally, I can still hear the music playing in the other room and there were the cooking sounds to break the lull. I look around the large airy kitchen. This apartment is quite sizeable considering it is Manhattan. It must cost quite a bit. The eat-in kitchen is modern and largely consists of white tiles with black counter tops, the rest of the room contains the two stools where I’m sitting, a round table with four chairs and a wooden sideboard up against the wall. There are also two large windows which I’m guessing probably allow plenty of natural light into the room during the day. 

“I like your apartment, have you lived here long?”  
“Three years, before that I had a consultancy in San Francisco,” he tells me as he holds out a wooden spoon and says … “here taste this.”

I lean in and gently blow on the spoon before tentatively tasting the sauce. It is spicy, but very nice.

“Mmmmm,” I murmur in appreciation. 

Not just at the sauce, but also at the gesture. There seems to be something quite erotic about him feeding me like this. 

“So, Chandler … tell me about yourself,” he says as he rinses the spoon and gets some bowls out.  
“There’s not much to tell … I’m from Westchester … I went to Iona Prep … now I’m at Columbia,” I summarise my life to date in one sentence.  
“I know that school … Iona … it’s very good,” he comments.  
“Yeah … but full of snobs,” I state bluntly. 

Annoying snobs who found it quite amusing to mock me about my parents, in particular my mother’s books. That and the fact that my Dad turned up to a swimming carnival in full women’s attire and introduced himself to everyone as Helena.

“And you don’t think of yourself as one of them?”  
“No, never … but my Mother is a bit a social climber and she insisted I attend,” I explain.  
“I see … well, the education seems to have been worthwhile.” 

We chat for a little longer and then eat dinner. It is quite delicious. Afterwards, I offer to help clean up but he waves it off and instead ushers me into the living room. This room is also quite large, and contains a black leather sofa, two armchairs, three bookshelves overflowing with novels, texts, and ornaments, and a large expensive looking sound system.

He has some classical music playing. I do not recognise this particular composer. More wine is poured. We sit down on his sofa, at opposite ends. He crosses his legs in an elegant way. I sit there slightly more awkwardly and look at him curiously as I sip my wine.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to get me tipsy,” I tell him.  
“And if I was?” he responds with a smile.  
“I guess that would be OK,” I reply.

I break our eye contact to place my glass of wine down. There is a novel on the table, I pick it up and scan the cover. It’s titled _Beloved_ , by Toni Morrison. 

“Have you read that one?” Luke asks me.  
“No … is it good?” I ask.  
“I thought so … you can borrow it if you like,” he offers. I smile and nod. 

There is a brief lull in our conversation as I read through the inner cover, perusing the basic plot. I’m aware of the fact that he’s watching me. Every so often I allow myself a quick glance up. He notices.

“Chandler, I think you know why I asked you here tonight.”

I gulp nervously. Yes, I know … but that doesn’t stop me from being absolutely shit scared.

“Uh-huh,” Is the only response I can muster.  
“Are you nervous?” he asks as he puts his wine glass down on the coffee table.  
“Yes,” I reply.  
“Don’t be … I don’t bite … well not unless you want me to,” he says with a sly smile.

He moves closer to me and takes the book from my hands, placing it on the table before turning back to me. 

“It’s just that I … I … haven’t,” I mutter shyly. He nods and smiles.  
“I know.”  
“Do you … often date students?” I ask him.  
“No … never … you’re the first.”  
“Why me? I’m not that special … I know I’m not the smartest, or the best looking, and I know there are other gay guys in our class.”  
“You have a quality … I like it,” he responds simply.

A quality? I’ve never heard that before. Is it true or just some random pick-up line? 

“Really? What does that mean?”  
“It’s easier to show you,” he says.

He takes my hand in his and gently strokes my fingers. By comparison, our hands are quite different, not just the colour, but also the size … I am definitely the smaller man and my hand feels delicate and soft in his stronger more confident clasp.

He then leans forward and kisses me. Like yesterday our lips lightly brush together at first, but unlike the previous encounter, I don’t require any coaxing to open my mouth and deepen the embrace. We passionately explore each other’s mouths. He smells really, really nice. I vow to myself that I will get better acquainted with men’s colognes because I quite like this one. 

I had expected the whiskers of his goatee to feel coarse, but they don’t. They’re surprisingly soft and I discover I like the feeling of them against my chin. I wonder if I’d ever be capable of growing one? Facial hair hasn’t really been something I’ve had to worry about yet … I barely even need to shave.

His hand casually runs downwards, along my chest, coming to a stop at the buttons of my shirt. He expertly undoes them with one hand whilst not even breaking our kiss. I just submit to his bold moves, so far it doesn’t feel too frightening. I nestle myself into the pillows of the sofa and run my hands against the back of his neck and then through the tight weaves of his hair.

Luke slowly pulls away from our embrace and gazes down at me, appreciatively. My shirt is now spread open, exposing my bare chest. I’m quite skinny but not puny. I have no real chest hair to speak of. He reaches out and lightly touches the skin of my torso, circling each nipple until it’s erect and hesitating when he discovers the third one. It doesn’t look like a nipple exactly, more of raised birthmark, but it does change in shape as a result of stimulus like a nipple. 

“I call it my nubbin, it’s sort of like an extra nipple,” I tell him. 

He smiles and caresses it. I arch backwards at the intimate sensation. 

“Come with me,” he says hopping up from the sofa.

I look up at him. He’s holding his hand out, beckoning me to take his and follow him. I gulp nervously. This really is the moment of no return.

“It’s alright Chandler … I’ll be gentle … I promise.” 

I accept his outstretched hand and he leads me silently up the hallway to the bedroom. It is furnished in a tasteful masculine style with a king-sized bed and black satin sheets. Two lamps beside the bed are the only sources of light, so the room has a nice soft glow. Very romantic. I am clearly being seduced. 

We stand beside the bed and he surveys me for a moment, then he proceeds to undress me. Taking my shirt off and then reaching for my belt buckle. I stop him before he can unclasp it, and he looks at me with a questioning expression.

“What about you?” I ask, referring to the fact that he is still fully dressed. I hadn’t had the confidence to explore his body before.  
“You want to see me?” he whispers seductively into my ear, and I slowly nod in response.

He smiles and rather than unbuckle my pants he moves his hands to his own belt, slowly undoing it. I watch as his pants fall to the ground. He’s wearing tight black jockey shorts, which he fills out nicely. He’s not fully erect yet, but he’s well on the way, and the sight excites me. I admire him for a moment, before returning the favour by taking my own pants off and letting him see me. 

He approaches me and resumes our embrace, although with more urgency and hunger. He’s a good kisser and I can only hope that I’m comparable. He certainly doesn’t seem to be disappointed. I can feel him growing as he presses up against me, and I’m sure he can also feel me. 

“I want you to touch me…” he commands, pulling away from me just enough to put in his request.

Oh God, now what? Kissing is one thing, I’ve done that before. Looking is easy, and quite nice. But touching? Where? How? Does it even matter? Oh well, here goes …

I allow my hands to travel down towards his hips, rounding the cheeks of his butt and pushing his underwear down. He seems to like my initiative, especially when I shift my hands around to the front and gently clasp his cock in my hands. This causes him to groan appreciatively into my mouth. I slowly start to massage. He is rock hard now and his size is impressive. I find myself feeling a bit nervous about the next step.

With a gentle nudge, he steps me back towards the bed and I find myself sprawled out on the mattress, naked and on display. He stands above me for a moment, gazing down at me, his eyes seem to be drinking me in appreciatively.

“You’re very beautiful,” he compliments me.

I’ve never been called that before. Cute once … by Sally Hutchins, in 8th grade, before I went to Iona. Actually, I’d forgotten about her … she was my first kiss … not Paula. But no one has ever described me as good looking since then. Not necessarily because I wasn’t, I just never really dated. 

I’m completely surprised by how much I appreciate the compliment, it’s flattering coming from this guy who is so confident, so much older and distinguished, so experienced, so good looking himself. My mood has shifted from one of nervous excitement to one of pure lust, I want him right now. I had expected to feel nervous for my first time … but no, this just feels so right and Luke is so confident. I too am extremely aroused, harder than I’ve ever been before. I can feel my dick pulsating with anticipation, pre-cum moistening the tip ever so slightly. 

I don’t have to wait long. Sensing my need he smiles and seductively crawls onto the bed, straddling me and leaning forward to kiss me once again. Our bodies intertwine as we make-out passionately, hands wandering everywhere and our breathing rapidly increasing in fervour. After a few minutes he pulls away from our embrace, I immediately miss his lips against mine and I reach out to beckon him back again. He just looks at me, smiles, and shakes his head. Instead, he inches his way down my body, kissing my neck, shoulders, nipples, navel and finally reaching his destination. With expert technique, he takes my cock in his mouth and swirls his tongue around the shaft in a spiral motion that threatens to send me over the edge.

“Oh, God … yes!” I exclaim in eager appreciation. 

My back arches up, hips thrust towards his mouth, I bury my head back against the pillows and close my eyes, moaning constantly at the amazing sensation. It’s my first blow job, and it’s bloody brilliant. I writhe around on the bed in ecstasy. I know I won’t be able to last long with this level of stimulation but I don’t care. He’s sucking now, and massaging my balls. I feel the throbbing intensify and before I can utter any sort of warning I cum, hard, deep into his mouth.

To his credit, he doesn’t even flinch. He clearly expected it. Rather, he simply swallows and licks my shaft clean as it begins to relax. I sigh in relief and satisfaction as I attempt to recover my composure and focus my mind. But he’s not finished with me yet.  
Suddenly I’m aware that he’s no longer licking my cock, he’s progressing further down. 

“Ah … Luke … I … I … oh … oh, yeah … oh, fuck!” I say in a drawn-out babble of renewed nervousness, pleasure, and extreme excitement as his tongue gently circles and penetrates my anus. 

I’ve read about this before but never have I ever dreamed that one day a guy would be doing this to me, it feels fucking awesome. 

“Chandler, are you ready?” he asks me after a few moments.

I prop myself up on my elbows and gaze down at him. I bite my lips in nervous anticipation and simply nod my consent. He smiles and begins to move his way back up my body, kissing me in various places as he does. Then he rolls over to the edge of the bed, leaving me lying there alone and exposed. I realise what he’s doing after a moment. The familiar foil packet is expertly ripped open and the condom rolled on. I hadn’t even considered that. Goes to show how inexperienced I really am. 

With this cock adequately sheathed, he rolls back towards me, I also notice that he’s holding a small bottle of lubricant in his hand. I watch as he squirts the gel onto my hand and then guides me to his cock, beckoning me to smear the lubricant along the length. I do so eagerly and he moans in delight at the sensation. 

Suddenly, he is back in position. I spread my legs to allow him access and then encircle his hips, bringing him down closer to my body. I gasp as he enters me, the pressure is immense, but he expertly and very slowly increases his depth and gradually the discomfort eases into pleasure.

“Oh, God … you’re so tight. You feel amazing,” he murmurs as he leans down to nuzzle my neck and earlobe. 

I have no words to respond, so I just reach up and stroke his cheek gently in avid admiration. 

“Bear down for me,” he commands, and I do. He groans instantly in appreciation of the gesture … “Oh, fuck me … that’s amazing!” he exclaims. I do it again and again, and I think he’s going to explode right there and then. 

Then he begins to move, slowly at first, but gradually increasing in intensity. I can feel him plunging deep inside me, pressing right up against what I assume is my prostate. The reaction is instantaneous, my whole body pulsates and I can’t control myself. My hips thrust upwards. My dick, which is now hard again, throbs. 

I grasp hold of my aching cock and rapidly massage myself, the relief is palpable but not enough. My breathing becomes a series of rapid gasps and I know I’m going to cum again, soon.

“Oh yeah! Luke … oh God, yes! Now! Oh … Aaahhh!” I scream as I ejaculate upwards all over my body. 

He smiles down at me but he doesn’t stop his pace. Over and over again he slams against my ass, each thrust sending tingling post-orgasmic sensations through my body. My legs have turned to mush, I don’t seem to have the ability to lift them properly but it doesn’t seem to matter. I can thrust my hips upwards and I match his thrusts with a rhythmic rocking motion that seems to work for both of us. Finally, after a few minutes of this frenzied action, he groans loudly and releases himself. Collapsing against my body in absolute exhaustion, breathing heavily. I wrap my arms around his back and hold him tightly. I am totally spent. As is he. And I am no longer a virgin.


	7. Chapter 7

For six weeks we’re together. Almost every night. I still attend classes and he goes to work, but we hook up every chance we get. I don’t get much study done and I don’t see Ross much at all. 

Luke dotes on me, I really am like his teacher’s pet. But I don’t care. It’s nice to have the avid attention of someone so mature. I never really had that growing up, mostly it was just me … alone, my parents were always out. He takes me out. We go to the theatre. To the ballet. To poetry readings. To the movies. He buys me dinner in fancy restaurants and gives me gifts. But most of all he ravishes me … every night. He teaches me so many tricks and techniques, I become quite skilled in the art of lovemaking. Who would have ever thought that? Not me, that’s for sure.

Then, everything changes.

Luke has been extremely quiet all evening. We’re at his apartment, as usual, but he hasn’t eaten much or drunk any wine and hasn’t been his normal chatty self. I try to fill in the awkward moments with my normal banter and of course, I attempt to kiss him but he actually pushes me away.

Now I’m really worried. 

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” I finally ask him … “Do you want me to leave?”

He looks at me, and for the first time, I see something different in his eyes. Fear. Or perhaps sadness. It is very different from the confident, cheerful expression he normally displays.

“Chandler … you … you’ll have to get yourself tested,” he tells me suddenly. I look at him in confusion.  
“Tested? What for?” I naively ask, and then I look at him again and I know … “Oh, fuck … _really?_ ” I ask. 

He simply nods sorrowfully. 

“When did you find out?” I ask him.  
“Today … my ex rang me from San Francisco … he’s positive, so I got tested this morning,” he tells me.  
“Oh, God,” is all I can say.  
“Look, you’re probably going to be fine … we’ve always been safe. Not like me and Tony, it was different with us,” he tells me.

I contemplate this for a moment. It’s true, we have always practised safe sex. I’m not sure if he’d suspected anything or if he was just being overly protective but he’d always taken precautions.

As I think about this and all the possible ramifications, he lays another bombshell on me…

“I’m moving back to San Francisco,” he says, surprising me even more.  
“What? Why? When?” I ask him in a series of rapid-fire questions that demand immediate answers.  
“The day after tomorrow … I’ve already told my boss that I have a family emergency and I have to resign immediately,” he tells me.

I just look at him. I can’t believe this is happening. First, I think he’s just in a mad mood, then I find out he’s sick and I might be as well, now this. All in the space of a few minutes. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes.  
He glances over at me, notices my tears, gives me a pained look, but doesn’t move towards me. It’s over, I know it.

“Tony needs me … I have to go back,” he states simply. His voice is so flat, so lifeless, so unlike the normal commanding confident tone that he normally displays. He’s like a different man.  
“He’s pretty sick, huh?” I ask.  
“Yeah … he doesn’t have long,” Luke tells me. His voice sounds so vulnerable, I know he’s struggling to stop the flow of emotion.  
“I’m sorry,” I say with heartfelt sympathy. 

We sit in silence for a moment. True silence this time. There is no music playing, no miscellaneous noise from the kitchen or elsewhere, just us sitting there depressed. Finally, he leans over and lightly touches my forearm. It’s not an erotic touch, far from it. It’s a reassuring gesture from an older man to his younger lover, one that’s required in the face of this news.

“Look … it’s not your problem … just make sure you get yourself tested … tomorrow. Promise me that.”  
“I will, I promise.”  
“Chandler, you have to leave now, I … I … can’t do this anymore, it’s too hard, and it’s not fair on you.”  
“But, I want to stay … at least for tonight … we don’t have to do anything. Please let me stay,” I beg. 

I shuffle over on the sofa to get closer to him. At first, he lets me. Opening his arms and accepting me into a hug. I rest my head against his chest and listen to his heart. It feels comforting like this. He gently strokes my hair. But then he reconsiders and sits up, pushing me away.

“Go Chandler, I’m not prepared for this … I can’t … just go,” he says, standing up and walking away.

I just sit there on the sofa, bunched up in a tight ball, hugging my knees to my chest in a protective pose. He turns and looks at me.

“You’ve been great … I’ve really enjoyed our time together … and if circumstances were different …” he says in a dramatic farewell that absolutely crushes me.

I just stare at him. Finally, I manage to mutter a reply…

“I’ll never forget you.”  
“And I won’t forget you either,” he responds, stepping forward to give me a final kiss. 

I leave 10 minutes later. As I step out into the dark, quiet street outside his apartment building I realise it’s past midnight. The 25th of November. Thanksgiving.


	8. Chapter 8

Luke has told me about an all-night clinic not far from campus, he said they would be able to run a test and probably inform me of the results in a few hours. I walk along the street in the general direction, completely lost in thought.

Thanksgiving isn’t really my favourite holiday. Eight years ago it was the day my parent’s decided to announce their divorce. It was also the day that I found out my Dad was gay, possibly transgender, in a relationship with our male housekeeper, and going to be moving out shortly … bound for Las Vegas. But none of those reasons really caused me to hate the holiday. Whilst my Father’s news was a shock, it wasn’t really a big deal. I mean, my parents have always been extremely liberal in their attitude towards sex. I have rather disturbing memories of their numerous ‘parties’ when I was growing up. 

My Mother’s reaction to discovering her husband in bed with a young male lover had been somewhat extreme. But it wasn’t really something that bothered me too much, he was still Dad. My attitude changed a bit when the boys at school discovered her novels and mocked me about Helena. That was annoying, so I stopped inviting them to my school events and we grew quite distant from one another. 

My parents were never really the most attentive folks even before the divorce. They’re both fairly selfish individuals and social climbers. We lived in a big house, in a fancy neighbourhood, I had a nanny until the age of five, and they were always out at the country club or in the city socialising. 

In fact, that Thanksgiving dinner when I was ten was one of the first times our family had actually come together to eat the celebratory meal. Needless to say, I wasn’t particularly fond of turkey then and I’m still not now.

But this news. This has absolutely killed any hope of me having a good long weekend. I’m physically numb and barely managing to keep my tears at bay. I can’t believe I allowed myself this one dalliance and fell in love with a guy who was well and truly no longer available. Thanksgiving sucks.  
_____________

“Here … press down hard for a minute, that should stop the bleeding,” the nurse instructs me. 

I take the cotton wool swab and do as she instructed … pressing down on the small puncture wound in the fold of my elbow. She busies herself packing up the blood test kit and labelling my sample. My eyes follow her around the room. Does that little vile of blood contain news of my future? 

Apparently, the test will take a little while, because of Thanksgiving. They have to send the sample to a lab on the other side of the city rather than test it on-site as they would normally do. I won’t know the results for approximately 12 hours. Great.

By the time I’m able to leave the clinic and return to the dorm building it’s almost 3am. Our floor, which, at this time, is usually noisy and full of partying freshmen in varying states of drunkenness is eerily quiet and deserted. Most of my fellow students have gone home for the holiday. I know that Ross hasn’t left. His family only lives in Long Island and he plans to catch the train there this morning. So rather than risk waking him, I sit in the lounge near the elevators and stare dumbly at the muted TV which is playing an old episode of Dynasty.   
_______________

At 6.30am I wake suddenly, surprised by the arrival of a janitor who was clearly not expecting to see me dozing in the armchair. He stares at me as I hurriedly leave the common area and head down the long hallway to room 1245.   
Ross isn’t in his bed or in the room at all. I breathe a sigh of relief and collapse onto my own bed, thankful that I won’t have to chat with him about my whereabouts or my current mood.

The past six weeks have been quite hectic for me. I’ve barely spent time in the dorm building at all, just ducking up there to get changed or have a shower. I’ve been eating most of my meals with Luke and have slept there most nights since our first wonderful encounter. My studies have suffered a bit, but not too much. Luke was very insistent that I still work on my various papers and submit them on time. I probably could have done more reading, certainly could have constructed better responses to the different essay questions and activities. But overall I was averaging a B- so I simply didn’t care. 

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I’m exhausted but can’t seem to switch off my thoughts enough to actually go to sleep. I’m stressing about the test result and grieving the loss of my lover. 

Suddenly the door opens and Ross comes in. He’s only wearing a towel and he’s carrying a sponge bag. His hair is still damp and he smells of some sort of cologne that I haven’t associated with him before.

“Oh hey … I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” he said when he notices me. He hurriedly goes over to his wardrobe and selects a green bathrobe and puts it on. 

I roll my eyes. 

“God Ross, you don’t have to cover up in front of me … I’m not going to seduce you or anything,” I say.

He looks sheepish, but still wraps the bathrobe tightly around his body before sitting down on the edge of his bed. 

“Are you going to be spending Thanksgiving with Profess… um … with Luke?” Ross asks me.   
“No,” I sigh … “we broke up,” I state in a very flat tone.  
“Oh, shit … I’m sorry … what happened?”   
“I don’t really want to talk about it … but he’s moving back to San Francisco, so it’s definitely over,” I tell him. 

There is absolutely no way I’m telling him the other stuff. Ross will never be able to deal with that.

“Are you alright?” Ross asks me in a gentle tone. Despite being a complete naïve dork he is quite a good friend, who I have completely neglected recently. I resist the temptation to be sarcastic. Instead, I simply say …  
“Not exactly … but there’s not much I can do about it … it’s over.” 

He nods and looks quite pained at my news. He’s a pretty empathetic guy really. 

“Hey … why don’t you come with me today? To my parent’s place … they always have a huge meal, there will be plenty of food. Well, until my sister eats it all. But you’ll be more than welcome,” he says as he gets up and starts making his bed.

I’m very, very tempted to just say no. To stay here and feel sorry for myself all day. The idea of travelling out to Long Island which is a bit of long train trip and then spending my not so favourite holiday with Ross’s family does not exactly fill me with huge amounts of enthusiasm. But the alternative is to stay here, in a deserted dorm building, nervously anticipating the result of a test that will affect the rest of my life. That thought fills me with more dread than the idea of a turkey dinner.

“Ok … just let me go have a shower … what time is the train?”   
“9am … you’ve got plenty of time,” Ross informs me. 

I grab my toiletry bag and some clothes and take the long stroll down to our floor’s communal bathrooms. As I stand under the hot water, I finally allow myself to cry. Loud, pathetic, emotional sobs that cause me physical pain because of the sheer amount of emotion I’m exuding. Thankfully, these bathrooms are individual cubicles and no one can hear me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I have to include an acknowledgement. The song lyrics for "Emotional Knapsack" are from a poem written by Aditya Ajay and Manas Pandey.

“So have you … you know … done it?” Ross asks me.

We’re sitting on the train heading out to Long Island. I look around the carriage. Thankfully, there isn’t anyone sitting nearby … the only other people in our car are seated several rows away and I don’t think they heard his rather embarrassing question.

“Geez, Ross … real appropriate question to ask in a public place,” I tell him. 

He has the decency to at least look a bit sheepish, but he still appears to be eager for a response. I don’t think I’m going to get out of this interrogation easily.

“Well, have you?” he asks again.  
“What do you think?” I ask him cryptically. He actually appears to think about the question.  
“Yeah … I figure you have …” he concludes, in a much quieter tone than his original question. I raise my eyebrows in a quick expression of acknowledgement.  
“Well, there you go … question answered,” I say, without actually providing a conclusive answer.  
“I haven’t,” he announces, in a wholly unnecessary admission of the current events. 

It is painfully obvious that Ross is still a virgin, and at the rate he’s going, he probably will be for years. I mean the guy basically lives to study, and all he wants to research is bloody dinosaurs. I mean, I’m quite smart and all … and most people would probably describe me as a bit of a square … but Ross is definitely the biggest nerd of all time. I actually feel sorry for him.

“Yeah … I figured that,” I say to him, with a touch of sympathy.  
“Was Professor Sullivan your first?” he asks me. 

Raw feelings that definitely haven’t been finalised come rushing back to me at the mention of my lover’s name. I close my eyes and wait for the feeling of grief to wash over me.

“Ross … I really don’t want to discuss that at the moment,” I tell him.  
“Oh … ok … sorry,” he mumbles, apologetically.

We sit there in silence for a few minutes. 

“It’s just that … there’s going to be a girl at my parent’s place … Rachel … she’s a friend of my sister’s,” he tells me out of the blue.  
“Oh … do you know her?” I ask him.  
“Yeah … from high school … she was a year below me,” he informs me.  
“And…?”  
“I like her.”  
“Well, why don’t you ask her out?” 

I look over at him. He looks extremely perplexed at that suggestion. He’s actually wringing his hands together like an old man.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that … she’s … she’s really cool you know … she barely even acknowledges me,” he babbles.  
“Well … you know … I thought the same about Luke in the beginning. He was super confident and good looking and I didn’t think he’d be interested in quiet, shy me … but he was,” I say to him, truthfully.

He considers this information for a moment, before nodding sagely.

“Hey you know what would probably impress her?” he asks me eagerly.  
“What?”  
“If we can tell her about our band … maybe even play her a song.”

I have to actively suppress my immediate inclination to burst out laughing. The guy is an absolute lost cause. Doomed to die a nerdy virgin obsessed with dinosaurs. I look at him for a moment, he’s so keen. I really don’t know how to let him down lightly. I actually find myself nodding … what is wrong with me?

“Alright … whatever … do you have a song in mind?” I hear myself asking. This is going to be bad, I just know it.

“Uh-huh … I composed it last week … I wrote it about Rachel,” Ross says as he digs around in his bag and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Proudly he hands it over.

Tentatively, I unfold it and glance down at the handwritten lyrics. Oh, God, I think to myself as I try and stifle the groan that wants to escape my throat. The song is actually titled _‘Emotional Knapsack’_ , and it doesn’t get better from there. I try to keep a straight face as I read through the four verses he’s written. 

_You never tell me how you’re really, oh,  
And how it kills me every time that I let you go.  
You went to prom with him, so, I guess you’ll never know  
All the things in my emotional knapsack._

_I was always right there just down the hall,  
But you saw me as a brother and that was all.  
You’re probably in, so, I guess you’ll never know  
All the things in my emotional knapsack_

_Oh, it’s burying down on my shoulders  
And oh, I’m getting older & older  
And oh, I should have told her  
All the things in my emotional knapsack_

_Carving the turkey, looking in your eyes  
A little glance or smile from you was like a prize  
I just wanted a hug, well, I’ll just try  
To keep it all in my emotional knapsack_

Oh, God, no … there is no way I am ever going to sing that song in public. 

“Do you like it?” Ross asks me as I finish reading and begin to fold the paper again.  
“Uh-huh … it’s … um … great,” I tell him, in an overly awe-inspired tone that almost anyone else would recognise as fake. Anyone else other than Ross … he just beams.  
“Cool … thanks. Oh, hey … I’ve also got something for you … look, it’s a fake ID!” he says excitedly as he hands me a laminated card. 

I glance down at it.

“Roland Chang?” I ask him, incredulously.  
“Yeah … sounds mature doesn’t it? Mine’s Clifford Alvarez ...” he informs me. 

I simply smile and turn to look out the window, it’s going to be a very long day.


	10. Chapter 10

“Ah yes … Bing … Chandler Bing … yes we do have your test results here. Can you confirm your Date of Birth with me for identity purposes?” the nurse asks when I announced why I was calling.  
“8th April ’68,” I inform her.  
“OK … yes … let me see … well you’ll be glad to know your results are negative,” she said in a professional tone. 

My whole body sags in relief and I can barely support myself to continue the conversation. 

“Thank you … uh … is there anything else I need to do?” I ask her.  
“No, not really … you’re welcome to make another appointment if you would like to have any further screening done or talk to a doctor, but otherwise you’re all in the clear … good news, hey?”

I murmur a sound of agreement and hang up the phone. Oh, thank God, I think to myself. But the feeling of relief is almost immediately diminished when I remember the reason I had to get tested in the first place. Without even realising it I find myself putting more change into the payphone and dialling a number that is very familiar to me. It’s quite late, but I’m fairly confident he will be awake. 

I’d ended up travelling back to the city, after Thanksgiving dinner, alone. Ross stayed with his family. He never did end up asking Rachel out … and thankfully we didn’t have to sing that bloody song. Rachel had taken off, even earlier than I did, to meet up with her on again off again boyfriend Chip. This had upset Ross no end and he’d ended up sulking in his old bedroom. So I’d left.

“Hello?” Luke’s lovely baritone voice echoes down the line a few moments later.  
“It’s me,” I reply, simply. 

There’s a short pause at the other end, I can hear him breathing.

“Hello Chandler,” he says eventually.  
“I’m negative,” I blurt out. It’s good news for me obviously, although I doubt he will get much enjoyment out of the information. It doesn’t change his outcome.

There is another lengthy silence, although I’m pretty sure that the sounds of his breathing have altered slightly. I hear him take a deep breath before speaking again …

“Thank you for letting me know, I’m really glad to hear that,” he says in a genuinely caring tone that brings tears to my eyes.  
“I still love you,” I tell him. 

It’s a bit of a strange thing to say, considering I hadn’t ever said those words to him before … but I think he knew. Deep down, I think he knew.

“Chandler …” he says softly.  
“I know … I know … I just needed to say that. Luke … I’m sorry about your … news … I wish it was different … I wish you weren’t leaving.” 

He sighs, sadly, on the other end of the line. 

“I have to go now … goodbye Chandler,” he says hurriedly and hangs up the phone before I can even reply. 

I return the handset to the cradle and turn to leave the lounge. The tears that had formed in my eyes earlier are now running freely down my cheeks. Luckily, there is no one around to see.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hey, Chandler … long time no see … what have you been up to?” Missy says to me as she approaches me in the library one Friday afternoon.

I look up from the book that I’m studying and meet her eyes. Her long hair is tied back and she’s wearing jeans and a pale grey blouse. She’s carrying a couple of books and a black ring binder. 

“Oh nothing much, just studying for mid-terms,” I tell her. 

It’s mid-January, the weather outside has been particularly miserable this past week and quite a few people in the dorm have come down with the nasty flu, Ross included, so I am spending more time than usual in the library trying to avoid his germs.

“So, I heard a rumour about you … and I need confirmation,” she says to me as she pulls up a chair and sits down beside me.

I look up at her and study her face. Does she know about Luke and me? I don’t see how it could be possible … we were extremely discreet and never once ran into any students who I knew. I gulp, silently waiting for her to reveal what this rumour is.

“I heard you rushed the stage at that Wham concert a couple of weeks ago, did George Michael really slap you?” she asks.

I feel my body physically relax as I smile. 

“Yeah … that was me. Ross dared me to and I was quite drunk,” I confirm and she starts laughing.   
“Fair enough, each to their own I guess. Hey, that new Psychology Professor is a bit crusty don’t you think? Whatever happened to Professor Sullivan … do you know?” 

I shrug my shoulders in a hopefully convincing display of ignorance. 

“Hey, so what are you up to later? You and Ross going out again?” Missy asks.

Amazingly enough, those stupid fake IDs that Ross got for us have actually worked a few times. We have successfully managed to get served in a few clubs, despite the names sounding ridiculously fake and both of us looking painfully young for our supposedly 24 years of age according to the fake bio’s.

“Nah … he’s in bed with the flu. I’ll probably just hang around here for a while and then have an early one,” I tell her.   
“Well, if you’re bored you can come visit me … I’ll just be in my room,” she says, invitingly. I look up at her. Oh, God. I think she’s suggesting something. Great.  
“Maybe,” I tell her, non-committedly, but shooting her a reassuring smile all the same. She’s a good friend and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

I stand up from the table and grab the books that I’d been reading, heading for the nearby shelves to return the items to their place. As I turn around, after placing the books on the shelf, I almost collide with her. Suddenly, she has her arms wrapped around my neck and is kissing me, urgently. 

I’m a bit stunned at first. I hadn’t really expected this. I stand there numbly for a moment allowing her warm soft lips to gently massage mine. She expertly manoeuvres them open and now we’re really making out. I find myself kissing her back, tentatively. She smells like jasmine and tastes like honey, nice senses … just not the ones I’m used to … or the ones I crave.

It’s not that I mind kissing her. It doesn’t repulse me or anything. It just doesn’t stir me like it did with Luke. I can do all the right movements with Missy, use my tongue, and my lips, and my hands to mimic an enthusiastic reaction, but nothing inside of me is celebrating … and I doubt I’ll be getting aroused from this embrace alone.

I think she knows something isn’t right. She pulls away from me and looks at me strangely.

“Don’t you like me?” she asks quietly.  
“Sure I do,” I reply with a slight smile … I don’t want to hurt her feelings or anything.  
“Well, what’s wrong? You don’t seem that all that enthusiastic.”  
“Look … Missy … it’s not you … it’s me … I’m gay,” I tell her.   
“Oh,” is all she says.

She stares at me for a moment. I can see her eyes literally scanning me from head to toe. 

“Do you have a boyfriend? … Are you and Ross?” she asks, curiously. 

I make a face and she smiles.

“God no,” I tell her resolutely … “No, I don’t have a boyfriend at the moment.”  
“Are you sure you’re gay? I mean … maybe you’re bi or maybe just confused?” she says, eagerly. 

I had had no idea that she was so into me. I mean Missy is gorgeous, she could literally have any of the guys in our dorm building if she wanted. But for some reason, she seems intent on pursuing me.

“I’m not bi,” I tell her.  
“How do you know? Have you ever been with a woman?”  
“Well, no … but how do you know you that you're straight? Have you ever been with a woman?” I ask.  
“Yeah … I have,” she says nodding … “It was OK … but I’m confident that I like men … one in particular,” she tells me seductively as she runs her hand slowly up along my chest. I look down at her hand and gulp.   
“Missy … I … I … I can’t …” I stammer, nervously.  
“Sure you can … it’s just sex … you might even enjoy it.”

I consider this thought for a moment. It’s not like I have anything better to do … and she does seem to be stirring some sort of reaction in me. Not exactly attraction, but a definite curiosity.

“Look, I have to go … I’ve got an appointment with Professor Collins, but as I said … I’ll just be hanging around in my room tonight … if you’re lonely,” she repeats her earlier invitation, and then she’s gone.  
I stand there in between the rows of bookshelves staring at her departing figure. Oh Geez, what do I do now?

Two hours later I’m standing in the hallway of our dorm building just before Missy’s room. Her door is open, as are quite a few of the other doors. It’s common in this building for the doors to rooms to be open. People often wander around, chatting to everyone, sharing gossip, and having a laugh.

I know I don’t have much hope of getting passed her open doorway without her noticing me, and I’m right. As soon as I pass by she calls out.

“Hey, Chandler … where are you going?”   
“I … uh… thought I’d go see if Ross is OK,” I say in a pathetic attempt at an excuse. She makes a face.  
“I’m sure he’s fine … he’s a big boy … come in here for a minute,” she beckons me.

I step inside her room. It’s quite cheery, with posters on the wall and a colourful bedspread.

“Shut the door, I want to show you something…” she tells me.

I gulp silently, but I find myself obeying her instructions. I gently close the door behind me and turn to look at her. She immediately strips off her top, revealing her breasts. Oh, God … here we go …


	12. Chapter 12

Against all the odds Ross has actually managed to get himself a girlfriend. Carol Willick, she’s majoring in Education and they met in the cafeteria a week ago. So far, they seem to be inseparable. I’ve hardly seen Ross all week.

It's November. Almost a year since I broke up with Luke. True to his word he left for San Francisco and I haven’t seen or heard from him since. 

Ross and I moved out of John Jay Hall in June, it’s only for Freshmen students and we’re Sophomores now. We had a choice of a few other dorms on campus, but in the end, we decided to rent a nearby apartment. 

We’ve picked our majors now, he’s studying Palaeontology and I’m doing Economics. I don’t really have a career in mind yet, but seeing as I’m good with math and data configuration this route seems like the most obvious choice. Missy has stuck with Psychology, but I didn’t pursue it after the Freshmen year. It wasn’t as interesting without Luke and didn’t really fit in with my major. I chose a computing subject as its replacement. 

We don’t see much of Missy anymore. She moved into a sorority house on campus and has been busy with her new friends. Occasionally, we run into her around campus. Not surprisingly she and I didn’t work out. Not that she didn’t try. We had sex a few times. In her room, in mine, in the shower, and once even in the Science Lab. It wasn’t bad … and everything worked the way it was supposed to, much to my relief. But, it just didn’t feel right. Something was always missing. So I’d ended it. 

Once again I’ve accepted an invitation to go to Ross’s place for Thanksgiving. It’s starting to become a bit of a ritual. Apparently, Rachel will be there again. I don’t think she likes her family much either, she sure does spend a lot of time with Monica.

The morning of the 25th I find myself in a coffee shop near the main Economics building. We’re supposed to be catching the 10am train, but it’s already 9.00am and Ross is nowhere to be seen. He promised to meet me here at 8.30am after spending the night with Carol. I look at my watch and roll my eyes. We’re going to have to leave soon if we want to make the train on time.

The coffee shop is a small place, with cosy armchairs and plenty of magazines and books lying around on the various tables. It’s quite a nice place to relax and provides easy entertainment during long afternoons. I enjoy spending time in places like this, I probably drink far too much coffee, but it’s a good place to study and read and people watch. Although, today the place is fairly empty. The campus has cleared out again. Most people take off early for the long weekend, they have much further to travel than Ross and I. 

I flick through the pages of a sports magazine, not really reading it, just passing time. Suddenly, I’m aware of someone standing above me.

“Hello Chandler,” a familiar voice says to me.

I look up and our eyes meet. He looks exactly the same. The same dark shining eyes, full lips, short hair and as usual he’s dressed impeccably. 

“Luke …” I murmur.  
“How have you been?” he asks me as he sits down in the chair alongside me.  
“Fine … what are you doing here? Are you back?” I ask hopefully.

He shakes his head slightly and I feel crestfallen. 

“No … I’m just here for Thanksgiving … my Father lives in New York,” he tells me.

I had actually known that. He’d told me about his Father a few times. He was a concert pianist for the New York Philharmonic. 

“Oh, that’s right …” I reply trailing off. I want to ask him about his health, but I don’t know how to find the words.  
“How are your studies? Did you pick a major?” he asks me. I nod in reply.  
“Economics … I decided Psychology wasn’t for me,” I tell him. He smiles. 

He reaches out and touches my hand, seeking permission to hold it. It’s not an erotic gesture. Not like the confident moves he used to seduce me with. It’s more of a reconnecting touch … tender, loving. I open my hand and entwine his fingers in mine.

“I wanted to apologise to you … for the way I handled our … farewell,” he says, softly.  
“It’s OK … I understand … I mean, I didn’t then … but I do now,” I reply. 

It’s true. I’ve had a year to think about it and slowly I’ve come to accept the situation. I’d actually managed to not think about him at all over the summer. I’d gone to London and Paris with my Mother who had a book tour. It’s only been in the past week, with the looming date of Thanksgiving approaching, that he’s returned to my thoughts.

“Well … I’m still sorry … I handled it badly. I hurt you. I think I was in shock … and quite angry with the world. But I’ve had time to adjust and I’m doing better now,” he says, apologising and explaining.

I nod. That’s fair. I suppose I would have been pretty devastated if I’d just found out that I had a deadly disease and that someone I still loved was also sick and probably near death.

“How’s … your … partner?” I ask him. I can’t for the life of me remember what the guy’s name is.  
“Tony … he’s not so good. He’s doesn’t have long,” he replies. 

His eyes water slightly at the mention of his lover’s name. I squeeze his hand in silent support. Just then we’re interrupted …

“Chandler! There you are! Come on we have to go! … Oh, hello Professor,” Ross says bounding over to us and coming to a dramatic halt as he realises who I’m talking to. 

Luke appears to be a little shocked at the intrusion. He abruptly drops my hand. He’s never met Ross before and probably has no idea who he is … we definitely did not interact with any of my friends during our time together. In fact, I barely even mentioned any of them and he didn’t talk about his social circle either. 

“Oh, Ok … coming … just give me a sec,” I say. 

Ross gives me a pained look. We really have to go if we’re going to get all the way to Grand Central in time. But he wanders away to give me a moment of privacy.

“I have to go … we’re going to his family’s place for Thanksgiving,” I say standing up.  
“That’s nice … I’m glad you’ve found someone Chandler … I wish you well,” he tells me glancing over towards Ross. 

I follow his gaze and quickly rush to correct his assumption …

“Oh, no … Ross and I are just really good friends.” 

He smiles. I have no idea if he believes me or not … but it doesn’t really matter. 

“Well, goodbye,” he says and leans towards me. 

For a moment I think he might kiss me on the lips but he doesn’t, he simply kisses me lightly on the cheek and then turns and leaves the coffee shop. Ross stares at Luke as he walks past him, but doesn’t say anything. I stare after him for a moment, before breaking the trance and striding over towards Ross.

“Come on … we’d better go,” I say to him as we leave the shop and quickly walk in the opposite direction.  
“Hey, so what did he want? I thought he was in San Francisco?” Ross asks me as we walk along.  
“Nothing much … he’s back to visit his Father. He just saw me sitting there and thought he’d say hello,” I tell him.  
“Oh,” Ross says simply … then as if he has just remembered something … “Hey, guess what! You will never guess what happened to me last night … twice!” he tells me proudly.

I chuckle to myself but manage a nice smile in the direction of my friend. 

“Well, it’s about time,” I say to him, light-heartedly.


	13. Chapter 13

“Well, ah, I’m an actor. I’m fairly neat. I ah, I got my own TV. Oh, and don’t worry I’m totally okay with the gay thing,” he finishes his little biography with a very interesting statement.  
“What gay thing?” I ask him. I’m pretty sure this guy is straight. I’m surprised that he’s picked up on me so quickly. Straight guys don’t normally do that.  
“Ah, you know just in general … people being gay, thing. I’m totally cool with that,” he mumbles.

I smile at him and nod.

“Good to know,” I tell him and he smiles back at me.

I study him for a moment. He’s not bad looking, dark hair, brown eyes, Italian heritage. Dumb as a post though. Not my usual type … but certainly not bad.

“So, did I pass?” he asks me  
“What? Oh … the room. Yeah, I suppose so … the other guy I interviewed hasn’t shown up so I guess he changed his mind, you can move in if you want.” 

He beams. 

“Hey, I’m going down to meet some friends for a drink … there’s a bar downstairs where we tend to hang out … you’re welcome to come along if you want,” I invite.  
“Sure … a beer sounds good,” he says appreciatively. 

We walk down the stairs of my apartment building and at the ground floor I stop to check the mailbox, there are a few letters there … I grab them, intending to open them at the bar.  
_______________

“Hey, everyone … this is Joey … my new flatmate. Joey this is Ross, Monica, and Phoebe,” I say introducing him to the gang.

Ever since Ross and I graduated college we’ve been hanging out with Monica quite a bit. She moved to the city a few years ago to attend culinary school, and lived with her Grandmother in a nice apartment building in the Village. I ended up moving into the apartment just across the hall. The guy who rented me the room, Kip, was going out with Monica at the time. We all became friends. That was until Kip and Monica broke up and he ran off to Boston to get married to his high school sweetheart. He moved out two weeks ago, so I’ve been looking for replacement flatmates for the past few days.

Last year, Ross and Monica’s Grandmother moved to Florida. Monica managed to keep the rent control arrangement in place … so she has this amazing apartment with a huge window and balcony for an absolute steal. But she still wanted a flatmate so Phoebe moved in. She’s quite nice, although a bit kooky sometimes. 

Monica, Ross, and Phoebe are all standing around near the bar drinking a selection of beverages. They all look at Joey as I introduce him, smile, and say hello. Monica smiles at him the most. She seems to be quite taken by him. He smiles back at her.

She approaches me, leaving the others for a moment.

“Hey .. you wanna hear something that sucks?” she asks.  
“Do I ever,” I say with sarcastic enthusiasm.   
“Chris says they’re closing down the bar,” she tells me.  
“No way!”  
“Yeah, apparently they’re turning it into some kind of coffee place.”  
“Oh, where are we going to hang out now?” I ask rhetorically.   
“Got me, maybe the new coffee shop?” Monica suggests.  
“Can I get two beers?” I say to the bartender who has approached me to take my order. 

I give Joey his beer, he thanks me but doesn’t offer to reimburse me at all. Oh well, I guess he can get the next round. 

“So, your new flatmate is cute,” Monica tells me.  
“Yeah … I know,” I reply looking over at Joey.   
“Is he?” she asks me.  
“Nah … I don’t think so,” I tell her, she looks happy to hear that.

Monica goes over to Joey again and strikes up a conversation. I wander over to where Ross and Phoebe are standing.

“Hey … so how are things with you and Carol?” I ask Ross. 

They’re married now, have been for two years. But it hasn’t been going very well. 

“Yeah, I think I’ve worked out why she’s been so distant lately. You know how I have you guys? Well she doesn’t really have any close friends that are just hers, but last week she met this woman at the gym, Susan something, and they really hit it off, and I … I … I think it’s gonna make a difference,” he tells Phoebe and me.

Phoebe studies him for a moment and then says.

“Ross … Carol’s gay.”  
“What? No way! Why would you say that?” he exclaims, incredulously.

Even I’m a bit shocked by Phoebe’s statement … I haven’t seen anything that might suggest that possibility, and I’d hung out with Ross and Carol quite a bit.

“I just know these things, her aura is very feminine …” Phoebe replied cryptically … “plus, she kissed me in the bathroom the other week,” Phoebe tells us.

We both just stare at her. Ross in particular is completely dumbfounded.

“How could I have not noticed?” he just muttered to himself.

The revelation caused a short lull in our conversation. But Monica and Joey, who hadn’t been aware of our discussion, appeared to be getting along OK. Monica now had her hand on Joey’s forearm and was telling him all about her new job at a nearby restaurant. Joey was listening intently, he seems to like talking about food.

“Dude, what’s with this guy? Is he cool? I mean he seems interested in my sister,” Ross asks me.

Well at least he’s thinking about something other than his marriage issues, although I don’t know if it had put him in a good frame of mind … he seemed especially grumpy and unusually overprotective of Monica.

“He seems nice enough … and his references checked out. I’m sure he’s fine …”  
“I still don’t want him … you know … with Monica,” Ross says in a chauvinistic overprotective tone that only Ross could be capable of.   
“Well, what do want me to do about it? I’m sure she can look after herself,” I say.  
“I don’t know … can’t you sleep with him or something?” 

I look at Ross in exasperation. The guy really is something else. 

“Ross, that’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. I can’t just seduce any guy I want. Plus, he’s straight, and I have trouble even getting gay guys to go out with me … you know my track record,” I tell him.  
“He’s not straight … at least not entirely,” Phoebe suddenly pipes up.   
“What? How can you tell?” I ask her … but I already know the answer… “his aura, right?” 

She nods. We all look over at Joey. Seemingly on cue, he glances up. He looks straight at me and smiles. I smile back. He does have a very nice smile. 

“There you go …” Ross says nudging me.  
“We’ll see …” is all I say. 

Joey turns back to Monica then and the moment is gone. I shift my attention to the pile of letters that I’m holding. I sift through them. One in particular grabs my attention. The monogram on the envelope is for Columbia University.

I open it …

Then End.


End file.
